A boy I knew, when I was a kid, was as skinny as a handrail. His tattered clothes fell around him like shadows at a funeral and I never saw him in the cafeteria, except on Fridays. He’d bring a sandwich and a raw potato in an oily sack. He’d take his time eating too, as if the executioner waited.
© 2009 mrp/thepoetryma
Thanks so much for your support of this great cause.
ReplyDeleteMy pleasure, Sarah. My pleasure. Thank you and peace...
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